


The Bitter Pill

by INMH



Category: L.A. Noire
Genre: Discussion Of Murder, M/M, Pre-Established Relationship, Spoilers, Strong Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-03
Updated: 2014-02-03
Packaged: 2018-01-11 00:57:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1166702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/INMH/pseuds/INMH
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Knowing that the Dahlia killer will never be exposed, Cole is a little less than happy. Stefan just wants to know what the hell chandeliers had to do with it. Cole/Stefan, pre-established relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bitter Pill

“What the fuck is this I hear about you jumping off chandeliers?”  
  
Cole rolled his eyes shut, and lowered the glass of scotch he’d been lifting to his mouth. “I take it you ran into Rusty?”  
  
Stefan slid into the seat across from him. The Blue Room was a littler quieter than usual, certainly quieter than a typical Friday night, and his voice had been a little too loud for Cole’s liking. But Cole just didn’t have it in him to shush him; after the night he’d had, he’d barely had it in him to drag himself to the club in the first place.  
  
“Of course I ran into him. He was grumbling about ‘all that shit for nothing’ and ‘guess Phelps almost got flattened by a chandelier for nothing, wonder when the Hall of Records is gonna give us a call’?” Stefan raised an eyebrow at him. “Explain, maybe?”  
  
Cole rubbed his eyes. “I really don’t want to talk about this, Stefan.” He whispered, but spoke it just loud enough for the other man to hear.  
  
Stefan’s face was serious. “Did someone die?”  
  
“I am _not_ playing Twenty Questions with you, Stefan.” Cole insisted.  
  
“You got shot at.”  
  
“ _Stop_ \- How did you know that?”  
  
Stefan plucked Cole’s hat off the tabletop and calmly held it up so that Cole could see the hole that had been shot through it. Strangely, he hadn’t even noticed it: It had been knocked off his head when he’d first followed Mason into the sewers, and Rusty had wordlessly returned it to him before they had parted ways.  
  
Cole reached over to take the hat, but Stefan pulled his hand back. Cole thought about pushing it, but then he just shook his head and picked up his glass again. No more games. Not tonight. He’d reached his limit for reprehensible _bullshit_ for the day.  
  
“Are you all right?”  
  
“I’d probably be in the hospital if I wasn’t, Stefan.”  
  
Now it was Stefan’s turn to roll his eyes. He set Cole’s hat on the table in front of him. “You know, you’re not the only detective around here, Cole. Despite what Leary, and Donnelly, and _Roy Earle_ think, I can make a correct deduction about blatantly obvious clues. You look like someone shot your dog. _Tell_ me.”  
  
And there was that Look, the one that Cole had trouble saying no to. Stefan was prone to sarcasm, wise-cracking, and general cynicism under the right circumstances; this was the expression that told Cole he was being serious, and Cole appreciated that sincerity.  
  
He also knew that it tended not to last long, and so he sighed and ran his hand over his face.  
  
“We caught the Dahlia murderer, in a manner of speaking-”  
  
“You caught the _what?!_ ” Stefan squawked, and Cole was forced to hiss at him and motion for quiet.  
  
“Keep your voice down. If Donnelly knows that I told you, we’ll probably both get fired.”  
  
“Are you all right?”  
  
“You already asked that,” Cole said, tone edgier this time. There was a little guilt; Stefan was worried, and had every right to be. But damn it, Cole’s mood was not good and it was fairly obvious that he was, at least physically, all right.  
  
Stefan looked perplexed, and he gestured helplessly. “And what, what’s with Donnelly? Does he want to wait for it to hit the papers in the morning?”  
  
“It’s not going to be in the papers, Stefan.” Cole said, voice tired and resigned. He fingered the glass and turned it a little on the tabletop. “It’s not going to be anywhere. No one’s going to ever know.”  
  
Stefan continued to stare. When Cole didn’t elaborate, he made a noise of frustration. “Damn it, Cole, I’m not a mind-reader! Why isn’t anyone going to know?”  
  
“Because _apparently_ the guy who did it is- was- related to just the right people, Stefan.” Cole’s whisper was both furious and very, very quiet, with him having to lean over the table to make sure that Stefan could hear him. “And Rusty and I promised we’d keep our mouths shut. So no, no one’s going to know. The guys we pinned for the other murders are going to quietly be let go, and everyone’s going to just let it go and pretend it never happened.”  
  
He pulled back, lifted his glass and tipped back a shot with a little more forced than was strictly required.  
  
This- This was infuriating. It was testing the limits of Cole’s patience. Unlike Rusty and Donnelly, he cared _very_ much that the right people took responsibility for what they did, and that the innocent not be culpable for things they didn’t. He cared that those men he’d arrested were going to be suspected by members of their communities. He cared that their names would never be truly, officially cleared. There would always be ambiguity, did he or didn't he, and their children and their families would be whispered about and treated like criminals themselves, and maybe they would have to move away or change their names to avoid the suspicion.  
  
And all because it was election season and the department wanted to save face.  
  
God _damn_ it.  
  
Cole jumped when he felt a hand cover his own, and he reflexively drew back. “Stefan,” He said; not angry, not upset, but startled. Usually Stefan was a bit more subtle than gestures that could be interpreted as unusually intimate in plain sight.  
  
Stefan sighed. “No one’s looking. And if anyone actually gave a damn I _promise you_ I could make them change their minds very quickly.”  
  
Cole raised an eyebrow at that. “You mean kind like of how you got those gangsters to chase us down and try to murder us in broad daylight?”  
  
“Kinda.” Stefan grinned. “Don’t deny you love the thrill of it.”  
  
Cole rolled his eyes again, but his expression softened a little. He swished the alcohol in his glass around. There was only a little left. “So, are you satisfied?”  
  
“Not really. I still want to know why you were jumping off of chandeliers.” He leaned back in his chair and picked Cole’s hat up again. “Is the Hall of Records going to be billing us for some kind of damage?”  
  
Cole’s eyes fell shut again. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, Stefan, but I am not _nearly_ drunk enough for this conversation.”  
  
Stefan smiled. “Well, why don’t you come back to my place and you can get as drunk as you want?”  
  
“If that’s the line you used on your previous conquests, it’s no wonder you never had much of a… _Social life._ ” He said pointedly before downing what was left in his glass and setting it down on the table.  
  
“I had _plenty_ of social life, thank you very much,” Stefan assured him even as he snatched Cole’s hat up off the table so that the other man couldn’t take it back. “Just not nearly as many people who were as tolerant of my mouth as you are.”  
  
“Lucky me,” Cole muttered, pulling his coat off the back of the chair.  
  
He said goodbye to Alfonse as they passed him at the door, and the evening air was cool. Cole had taken a taxi down to the Blue Room, his car still parked at the station. He let Stefan lead him to the parking lot, relatively empty due to the slow night. It was quiet- or at least, as quiet as a city such as Los Angeles could get at night.  
  
Well, at least Cole could rest easy in the knowledge that he wasn’t going to get called out to investigate a dead woman in the morning. At least he could know, for himself, that the Werewolf was dead and that the mystery was solved and the culprit was dead and that the known threat was now neutralized.  
  
But it gnawed at him, and Cole knew that it would gnaw at him for a good, long time. He’d heard of this, of cops having that one case that ate at them; one that was unsolved, one that got botched, one that they failed at or went bad in some other way. Was this going to be his one case? Was he going to spend the rest of his life having that guilt gnaw at him for not exposing the killer and vindicating the falsely accused? In twenty years, would it still eat at him that he’d helped the department cover this up for the sake of some Important Someone’s reputation, at the price of other men’s?  
  
Cole’s head was starting to hurt, and he couldn’t wait for a week or two to pass so that he could at least become accustomed to the feeling so that it wouldn’t drive him _quite_ as insane-  
  
“Hey, lighten up.”  
  
“Hm?” Cole snapped out of his miserable reverie only to feel Stefan pressing against him, pulling him into a kiss.  
  
He didn’t pull away for a few seconds, maybe a little too far along the road of drunkenness to react properly, or maybe a little too miserable to resist a little bit of something he enjoyed, however unwise it was to perform it in that moment.  
  
After a few seconds Cole pulled back, blinking, and then reflexively glanced back and forth to make sure no one had seen. Now it was Stefan’s turn to roll his eyes. “I checked, Cole, no one’s watching.”  
  
“What was that for?” For all his surprise, Stefan’s hand was still resting comfortably on his hip and he made no move to shake it off.  
  
“You killed a raving lunatic with a massive superiority-complex who probably would have killed a lot more women if you hadn’t filled him with lead.” Stefan said easily, clapping Cole’s shoulder with his free hand. “This dangerous hell-hole of a city is a little less dangerous tonight. We’re going back to my place so we can celebrate the death of a very, very bad man. So lighten up, at least a little bit.”  
  
Cole thought about telling Stefan then and there why he wasn’t exactly in the mood to celebrate Mason’s death, but considered that they would probably get to that at some point during the discussion. He tried, and he managed at least a little smile for Stefan’s benefit. “I thought we were going back to your place so that you could ply me with alcohol and get me to tell you about the chandelier.”  
  
“That too!” Stefan said brightly, pulling away completely and rounding to the driver’s side of his car. “A little alcohol and I’m sure all kinds of things will happen. Who knows?” He grinned and got into the car.  
  
Cole groaned a little. Stefan was many things; subtle was not always high on the list. Sometimes it wasn’t there at all.  
  
Still, the night would be easier to get through with him. And if there was anyone who might be able to get Cole to celebrate- at least a little- it was Stefan.  
   
-End

**Author's Note:**

> My first foray into pairing-writing for this fandom please be gentle.


End file.
